1522 Methos And The Artist
by sillivan
Summary: Excerpt from Rooted in the Past: Methos has a sculpture of himself, and when asked about it says that the artist who sculpted it was part of what made the 16th century so incredible. They met on May 23rd, 1522. "A former student and I went to one of those wild parties the aristocrats threw..."


**1522, Paris-Area**

When he thought about it, there was not a century or a decade which did not qualify as a "strange and interesting time". At least, that was what he said when Hugh Fitzcairn showed up at his door and invited him to a party, insisting that he attend on the grounds that this century was more interesting than all the centuries before. That Fitz would think so was not surprising. He was only three hundred and thirty-two years old.

The small, wiry Englishman, with his almost-blonde curls and bright eyes, left a trail of swooning women behind him everywhere he went. It was safe enough, now that he was Immortal...; but his first death, at age thirty-four, had been at the hands of a woman's jealous husband. He breezed through Immortal life, charming all but the most evil of their kind, and either escaping or taking the heads of those determined to attack. Recognizing an unintentional penchant for trouble, Methos blessed the fact that Fitz was already a talented swordsman and left the youngster to his own devices as soon as it was safe to do so. Fitz never really noticed that Methos was avoiding him, somehow able to find the teacher he knew as Michael Adamson whenever he wanted to.

Despite Methos' best efforts to resist, he found himself agreeing to accompany Fitz to the party. There was no reason not to go. His medical practice was flourishing. The little touches he added from centuries of experience were too subtle to attract attention. His identity here was secure. Of course it set Fitz to laughing so hard he almost could not get off the floor. "Docteur Adam Michaelson!" the Englishman repeated a few times, holding onto his sides.

"So it's not very original. I've just become fond of using 'Adam' in my name." Methos tried to look angry, glaring down at the laughing man, but it was just impossible. He finally consented to go to the party just to get Fitz to shut up.

The party turned out to be a relatively small affair. There were perhaps fifty guests, a large number of them artisans. Fitz was the pet of the hostess, a beautiful woman whose husband was off at court. Adam just shook his head. He quite enjoyed the artisans, though. Sculptors, poets, writers and painters all. The gossip was centered around Louise de Savoie, the mother of the king, and the man she was enamored with, Charles de Montpensier. Everyone was talking about how he hated her, and she used her son to get revenge for being scorned.

In a brief lull between conversations, one man caught Adam's eye. An over-dignified gentleman perhaps in his forties, a little shorter than average. He did not seem so much standoffish as reserved. Adam was trying to figure out what it was about the man that drew his attention, when he realized he was looking at a woman. It was something in the arch of her neck, the way her hands were shaped, that gave her away; signs too subtle for most people to notice without years of experience, and Adam certainly had that. He made his way over to Fitz and his lady. "Who is that?"

Fitz turned his head to look. "Oh, that is Antoine Aloisi, the sculptor. He got into it rather late, though I hear he is quite good."

"Fascinating. Introduce us."

Fitz grinned, begging his lady's indulgence, and the two men crossed the room together.

Aloisi glanced up at their approach, clearly girding himself - er, herself - to dissuade them from bothering him. Or her. Adam found himself grinning and noted in the controlling corner of his mind the imperative to refer to Aloisi as male. Sculpting was not considered a profession for a Lady; she must want it very badly to maintain this charade. He studied the eyes in the face. They were a promising blue-gray color, possessing that otherworldly gaze marking the artist. Adam's ironic amusement threatened his control, and he forcibly pulled his mouth into an almost-straight line. As a man, Aloisi's face was a little too rounded, but otherwise natural. Fitz, making quick introductions, hastened off to rejoin their hostess, leaving Adam alone with Aloisi.

Adam caught a caught a hint of appraisal in Aloisi's eyes, an instant of interest quickly masked by the pretense of irritation. That was good. It meant she had an interest in men. Adam scolded himself for not asking for more details before coming over to meet her. Perhaps Aloisi was said to have a sister, cloistered in their home, a sister who never saw any visitors...

"You find me amusing?" Aloisi asked, his tone a hint of annoyance spread thinly over an abundance of secret laughter.

Adam forcibly restrained his smile as it persisted in breaking past the confines of his nose. "It is your sister's situation that I find amusing," he replied in his warmest confidential tones. "I would like to see her and ascertain her condition."

Aloisi seemed to scramble for words in surprise. "Docteur Michaelson, she has already been examined by the best medical men!"

"What did they conclude?" Adam asked curiously, wondering what the excuse would be.

Aloisi rolled his eyes. "LEECHES! Dozens of leeches to draw out the ill humors. If I were to permit all the blooding they wished for my dearest sister, she would be dead of the loss within hours."

Adam laughed. How many years had this woman been doing this? He was delighted. "And what is the name of your sister, Monsieur Aloisi?"

"You do not know? Her name is Marie." The interest in those eyes was less casual now, more wistfully appreciative. "You do not care for the application of leeches, then?"

"Ah, I have studied medical history. Leeches are useful for many things. These days, I believe they are over-used as a remedy."

Aloisi nodded agreement, still watching Adam with cautious curiosity. "You have a most peculiar accent, young man."

"I lived in Rome for some time."

His face brightening, the sculptor took Adam's elbow and propelled him towards the banquet table. "I have never been away from Paris! Tell me about Rome, Docteur!"

They spent the rest of the party in conversation, ignoring everyone else. Before they parted, Adam allowed himself to be cajoled into meeting again to pose for some preliminary sketches for a sculpture Aloisi intended to design. At first he pretended to resist. "Ah, Monsieur Aloisi, I am too thin! Hardly the image of masculine beauty you want!"

"No, Docteur. Your face has fascinating bone-structure. I am certain the rest of your body is equally pleasing to the eye."

Thus, Adam came to pose for Aloisi. He would stand in whatever position requested, the room and his naked body warmed by a fire, and they would chat as Aloisi sketched. They talked of Rome, Paris, history, and new findings in the medical field. Aloisi was a perfect gentleman. At first, it was only on rare occasions that Adam caught the sculptor's eyes on him with other than professional detachment. As time passed those occasions became less rare. He was not surprised. He knew what he looked like: a man in the prime of his life, limber, and long-limbed; athletic, like an acrobat - or a man who daily practiced with his sword. His natural fluidity and grace made most of the local men look like toads.

He found her enjoyable. Besides her choice of lifestyle, she was an articulate, well-informed person. She listened as well as she spoke. The urge to share more of himself with her was thwarted by the need to keep his Immortality a secret, but it soon found an outlet in a low flame of desire, kindled by her growing interest. He would regale her with bawdy tales of the world-traveler Methos, which was the closest he would come to telling her about himself. Of course, when he told her about the mysterious land at the bottom of the world whose inhabitants were as dark as Africans, she insisted that was impossible. She was equally doubtful about wallabies, but he let that go. After all, it had taken him days to believe his own eyes, looking at those creatures.

He drew her to him with his tales and sense of humor. They formed a habit of sitting across from each other on a bench after he finished posing each day, unwilling to end their conversation. Day by day he gradually closed the distance between them; and then one day, before she thought to move away, he laid her down and closed his mouth over hers. Her lips parted beneath his, and he would have drowned there if he could, but she suddenly came to herself and pushed him away.

"No?" he asked softly. He plead with his eyes.

She licked her lips and returned his regard, her eyes dark like storm clouds. "No, I only desire members of the opposite sex."

He almost laughed aloud. He did permit warmth and amusement to show in his eyes. "Truly? Let me change your mind." He bent to taste the flesh of her ear before she could object, his hands working at the fastening of her coat.

She pressed against him for an instant, then fought herself down. "Please..!" she whispered tightly.

He again swept his lips over hers, slipping his tongue between her teeth to run lightly along the flesh behind. Shifting down, he pulled aside her collar and stroked and nipped at the flesh revealed. Her body shook as her legs slipped apart. When he slid his hand between them and pressed upwards, she moaned and reached her strong sculptor's hand down to stop him. "I think you could change your mind," he whispered.

"I don't want to disappoint you," she gasped out. He almost forgot that she was pretending to be a man until she managed to speak. "A - Adam... do you like women, too?" Her voice was small and tentative.

Yielding, he turned his head so their cheeks were pressed together. "Yes, I do like women. Just as much." She sought to push his hand away, but he had all the leverage. He shifted his fingertips in and caught her groan between his lips, her mouth under his.

Her body was trembling wildly. He used careful fluttering movements to keep her that way. Just as he began to move his head down again she gasped out, "I am a woman!"

He raised his head and looked down into her eyes as if amazed. Parting his lips to speak, instead he tilted his head and did a quick survey of the body beneath him. Meeting her eyes again, he let her see that he understood. "You are Marie, then?"

Her skin flushed, her lips parted, her eyes wide and black, she nodded. He swooped down and kissed her again. Breaking away for just a moment, he smiled and said, "I am very pleased to meet you."


End file.
